Starving Artist
by whisperitonce
Summary: Maureen is having some serious issues... can Mark and Joanne help her before its too late? Rated T for language and thematic elements
1. Can't Stop Me

Inspired by a snippet from Rent (the song).

Disclaimer: I don't own. I don't even rent. I just kind of borrow without asking.

Maureen's POV

_The phone is ringing. Was I asleep? There's no way I have time to sleep right now. My protest is tonight. I hope everything is ready… since stupid Benny has the cops on standby for sure, I want to make sure this performance – protest- is the best the East Village has ever seen. I'm not going down without a fight._

_What is that goddamned noise?!? Oh, right. The phone. I should probably answer that._

"It's me – Joanne

Your substitute production manager

Hey hey hey! (Did you eat?)"

_Do I ever? Wait, don't answer that. I do. I'm sure everyone notices how much I eat. How I eat and eat and eat, much more than I should. They must notice how fat I am. Probably think that its __disgusting that someone as fat as I am continues to eat so much food. They must think that I'm disgusting. Hell, I **am** disgusting. _

_I hope the equipment is working for tonight…_

"Don't change the subject, Maureen" 

_I'm not changing the subject, I just need to know if the damn equipment is working or not. If it isn't, I'll call Mark, he'll fix it. Ok, maybe I'm changing the subject a little…_

"But darling -- you haven't eaten all day"

_I know, isn't it great? But it's only, what, 9:30 pm? And everyone is going to the Life Café after my protest. I absolutely loathe public dining. And yesterday, yesterday I had that side salad at the Life… how fucking stupid! That's me, fat and stupid. _

"You won't throw up

You won't throw up"

_Yes, I will. If I eat, I will throw up, and you can't stop me._


	2. Nervous

Joanne's POV

I don't know what to do about Maureen. When we cuddle in bed at night I can feel her bones poking at me through her skin. Mocking me. Taunting me. Like they know something that I don't.

I honestly don't understand where she gets her energy. She runs around all day practically manic, planning this protest and that performance. Calling me, frantic, if anything is amiss. Sometimes I think my lawyer job is easier than what she does. She's just so passionate about everything. If I was that passionate about every little thing the way Maureen is, I think I'd be edge of nervous collapse by now.

But whenever I try to say something to her about it… when I tell her she should take a break, relax a little, when I tell her she needs to eat more (or eat at all), she just gets so… evasive.

How many times a day do I hear her profess that she ate earlier, she'll eat later, she isn't hungry? I don't even know if this is something new, or if she's just getting worse at lying about it. From how skinny she's gotten, though, I'd say its been going on for awhile.

Oh my God, I'm such a horrible girlfriend for not noticing sooner! Maybe if I paid more attention to her, if I worked less… no. This is not my fault. This is something that is going on in Maureen's head, making her think that she has to be super-thin to be pretty, to be loved. Does she feel like I don't love her enough?

Ugh, this is getting out of hand. I need to help Maureen before she screws her life and her body up beyond repair. I just wish I knew how.


	3. Not My Business

Mark's POV

I loved Maureen. I still love her, just in a different way. We're friends, and that's finally ok with me. I used to sort of be jealous of Joanne, but now that I've met her, I see that she and Maureen could be good for each other. Besides, it's exhausting to have Maureen's drama in your life 24/7.

Wait, that's not a fair thing to say. Maureen is an amazing person, and no one is perfect. The problem with Maureen is that she thinks she has to be. Unfortunately, to Maureen, perfect means beautiful (on the outside). And to Maureen, beautiful means thin.

Now, any guy who tells you that a girl's looks don't matter to him is lying. Guys do consider a girl's body type a fairly important factor. Of course, now Maureen is with another girl, but I'm assuming girls consider stuff like that to be pretty important as well. Maureen was beautiful to me. She was certainly skinny enough for me. But I'm starting to see that Maureen will never be skinny enough for Maureen.

I am a filmmaker. I watch people for a living. When we dated, I used to watch Maureen eat. Or, rather, I used to watch Maureen take the smallest possible portions of food and push them compulsively around on her plate. I don't think she noticed that I noticed her habits, until the one day I worked up the courage to bring it up with her. We fought horribly and loudly that day.

_Maureen, why can't you just eat your damn food? There are some people who would be very grateful to have this food, including some of your roommates! So stop this nonsense, goddammit! Anyway, don't you see what you're doing? You're hurting yourself!_

_Mark this is not your business! It's my body and my life, and I can do whatever the hell I want! You guys have everything sooo easy! You just don't understand, you won't ever understand!_

She screamed at me, tears streaming down her face and hands clenched tightly into fists. Then she ran into her room and slammed the door, jarring a picture from the wall. I heard the frame break as it slid down the wall and hit the floor. I knew which picture it was, too, because it was one of the few that Roger had allowed to remain hanging in the loft. April wasn't in it. It was just me, Roger, Maureen, Benny, and Collins.

I sighed deeply and went and knocked on Maureen's door.

_Mo? _I said softly. I tried the door; it wasn't locked. Maureen was curled on her bed in fetal position, facing the wall. I tried not to notice the prominence of her hipbone. I sat down next to her on the bed, and rubbed her back gently.

_I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to offend you. Let's just… let's just go watch a movie or something, ok? Maureen?_

She turned slowly to face me. Her face was still blotchy red and her cheeks tear-stained. She nodded, and got up off the bed. She took my hand and we walked back out to the couch, where we passed the night watching some lame movie on TV. She fell asleep on me, and the next morning, she behaved as if nothing had ever happened. I followed her lead. I hated to fight with her.

And now she's at it again; I can tell. But it's not really my business anymore, is it? She dumped me. I just hope Joanne can handle her. Before she gets any worse.


	4. Game

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm going to try to keep updating frequently, but I have finals coming up tomorrow and next week so I really ought to study… keep reviewing and maybe that will motivate me to update sooner! ;)

Maureen's POV

_My protest went well… so the riot wasn't exactly planned, but at least Mark got it on the night's new. That should bring some recognition to my- our cause. I just hope I wasn't in his footage. I look even fatter on camera._

_Now we're all here at the Life Café… including that traitor, Benny. But I won't let him get to me. Nothing will get to me._

"Is that it here?"

"Wine and beer!"

_I shout joyously with the others. Light beer, of course. How many calories are in one beer, anyway? And why is Joanne looking at me like that?_

"Honey, you shouldn't be drinking." She whispers to me.

_I knew it. I'm fat. She thinks I'm fat. Dammit, why can't they make diet beer? I must look disappointed, because Joanne attempts to explain._

"You shouldn't drink, because you haven't had anything to eat all day! You'll get drunk!"

_Please,_ _I'm not a lightweight. In any sense of the word. So what if I didn't eat today. I wouldn't call that a problem, I'd call that an accomplishment._

"Wipe the speakers off before you pack" I respond instead.

"Yes, Maureen." She sighs, looking annoyed, and vaguely disappointed.

"Well- hurry back."

_Ugh, why am I so horrible? Who in their right mind would want to date me? I don't deserve Joanne, just like I didn't deserve Mark. Fat, ugly girls like me don't deserve anything but misery._

_But now I am gaining control. Don't you see? Food isn't necessary, like everyone thinks it is. Like everyone tries to tell you it is. That's always been my downfall, thinking that I need food, that eating is natural. Food is a just a distraction, a lingering temptation that's trying to throw me off my game. That's right, a game- and the thinner is the winner. Thinner than those models in all the ads. Thinner than the girls in all the Broadway shows. Thinner than Mimi and all her druggie friends. I will be the winner. You'll see._


	5. Losing Her

Joanne's POV

I know tonight is supposed to be a celebration- its Christmas Eve, for God's sakes- but I can't just sit back and watch Maureen play games with her life anymore. I know everyone thinks I'm too uptight, too serious, too _lawyerly_, but what Maureen's doing _is_ serious. There's even a name for it. It's called anorexia.

Finally, there's a lull in the pandemonium. Roger and Mimi have even slipped away from the group. My chance to confront Maureen, because if I don't, I'm going to lose her. Literally.

I pull her aside.

"Maureen, honey…"

She looks at me, expectantly. I don't quite know where to start.

"This kind of dieting isn't safe. If you really want to lose weight, you ought to eat about six small meals a day. That keeps your metabolism going and it's much healthier than skipping meals…"

By the blank look she's giving me, I can tell that pure logic isn't doing the trick. Which truly sucks, because logic is the one thing that's always worked for me in the past. I guess that's just Maureen for you. I decide to switch tacks.

"I want to know why you won't eat. You're scaring me, sweetie. What you're doing, it isn't safe. You have an eating disorder, Maureen. You need to get help before you really get sick. People can die from not eating. I can help you find a therapist, if you want…"

Still the blank look. It's painfully subtle, but I can tell she's struggling to hide some emotion. Whatever it is, she masks it well. It's unnerving, what little care she seems to have about my serious remarks, what little care she has for her own wellbeing.

Finally, she speaks.

"Are we packed?"

I can't do this anymore.

"Yes, and by next week, I want you to be." I turn to leave.

"Pookie?" She asks. Quietly. Heartbreakingly.

But I don't turn around.


	6. Shattered

Maureen's POV

_Turn around, Joanne. Turn around. Tell me you're kidding. Tell me this is some horrible joke. Tell me you love me._

_Blink back tears. Channel all my energy at Joanne. Turn around, dammit. _

_For I minute I think that she can feel my eyes boring holes in the back of her head, because she turns. I think she's had a change of heart. But when she speaks, its not to me, its to pretty much everyone else in the café. _

"The cops are sweeping the lot, but no one's leaving. They're sitting there…"

_Her eyes flick to me and back so quickly that I'm not sure if I imagined it._

"Mooing."

She turns around again, and this time she leaves. Everyone else is cheering, dancing on tables, to celebrate the success of the protest. MY success. But I have to force a smile. Jump up on the tables. Imitate happiness. Can't let them see me shattered.

**About a week later (this is where it will start to deviate from the plotline somewhat)**

110 pounds. Too much. Too fat.

Joanne kicked me out. I've been staying in a hotel that past 6 days, but I can't afford to stay here much longer.

110 pounds. But I've been good… I eat salad, cucumber, and celery. An apple or banana now and then. So why have I failed at this? 110 pounds. I need to weigh 90. At the most. Maybe if I weighed 90, Joanne would still want to be with me. Wouldn't be so repulsed by me. Wouldn't get so annoyed with me.

I don't care what she's says. I'm not sick. It's not an eating disorder when you actually need to lose weight. It's just a diet. And its not working…

I need a new place to stay. Time to eat my pride. Time to see if Mark would even consider letting me move back into the loft. Just temporarily, of course. Would that be a horrible thing to ask after dumping a guy? Probably, but I really don't have any other choice. I think I'll jog over to the loft and talk to him, because God knows I need the exercise. I'll jog to the loft… after I take a nap. I've been so tired lately. So… tired…

Oh, I almost forgot. Happy New Year. Three guesses what my resolution is going to be.

A/N: Sorry for the short chapters, Tina 101! I get inspiration in spurts. :-)

Two finals tomorrow and then I am done! Hooray!


	7. Tragically Undone

A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating… I had finals and then I had checking out of my dorm and coming home to deal with, and then of course catching up with all my friends I don't often get to see. Finals went well, by the way… not that anyone was wondering… or cares… lol. Here's the next chapter.

Mark's POV

There was a time not too long ago when I would have been ecstatic to find Maureen knocking on my door, apologizing for the way she treated me and pleading for me to let her stay here. Now I'm not so sure how I feel, but I guess that doesn't really matter, because the girl standing in front of me so little resembles my ex-girlfriend that I almost didn't recognize her.

I guess the immense effort of micromanaging every aspect of her life, combined with an obvious lack of nutrition, had to take its toll on her sometime. Her face is gaunt, and the circles around her eyes make her appear as if she's been on the losing end of a fistfight. Good thing she has an oversized sweatshirt on, because if I could see her ribs protruding (as I'm sure they do), I might just go off on her. In any case, she looks so tragically undone by her own denial that I can't possibly refuse her request.

"Come in, Maureen. I'm sorry it's not warmer in here…" Her teeth are chattering, and she's hugging her arms to herself tightly, like she's holding on for dear life. Well, of course she's cold, its winter in New York and she has no body fat left to keep her warm.

"Why do you need a place to stay? Is everything ok? Did something happen with Joanne?"

"Joanne kicked me out. I disgust her. She doesn't love me anymore." Maureen states matter-of-factly. I raise an eyebrow.

"She kicked you out? When?"

"Six nights ago. After my protest and the riot and everything."

"SIX nights ago? Where the hell have you been staying?" In my worry, it comes out harsher than I intended. She flinches and I immediately regret my tone.

"At a hotel… but I'm running out of money. I just need a place to sleep. You have every right to hate me, but if you let me sleep here, I'll chip in some money for the power bills or whatever. I promise I'll stay out of the way… please, Mark? I won't eat any of your food or anything."

I almost laughed at that. I think I'd be more willing to let her stay if she asked permission to consume the entire contents of our kitchen. She's waiting for my answer; her eyes are begging me to take pity on her.

"Well, I should probably ask Roger… but I think it will be ok. At least for a little while. I'm sure you and Joanne will work things out sooner or later."

She manages to flash me a small grateful smile, but I can see the difficulty she has with just that small gesture.

"So… where can I sleep?"

"You're going to sleep now? It's only 7:00. Don't you want dinner or something first?"

"Oh, um, I ate already. Late lunch. Early dinner. One of those. I'm just really tired. So, sleeping arrangements? I'll take the couch if that's what you want." I can tell she's lying. Its almost like she's too exhausted to come up with the intricate fabrications she used to spew off at me about her "meals," right down to the serving sizes. I study her for a moment, but she won't meet my gaze.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch. If you're really that tired you can go lay down on my bed… we'll figure something else out later."

"Thanks, Marky." She croaks. "You're a lifesaver."

She picks up a small suitcase and starts toward my room.

"That all you brought?"

"Yeah."

"Ok… have a nice nap…" I say doubtfully.

I hear her close the door and I heave a great sigh. No more deaths in this apartment, not on my watch. Joanne's out of the picture, so it looks like its up to me to "fix" whatever's wrong with the impossibly stubborn and self-destructing Maureen. Fuck.

A/N: This is the last update for about two weeks probably, because I am going to Israel and I don't come back until the 26th of December. Everyone have a great holiday!


	8. Challenge

A/N: Wow, It's been quite some time since I updated this… I apologize for that and won't even bother making excuses. Honestly I'm not so sure about this chapter, but since I don't want this story to go on for a million chapters I needed to get to some sort of climax… still don't know how it's going to end, but there you have it. Please review, and if you want, tell me what you would like to see happen.

Maureen's POV

I float on a cloud between alert and unconscious for what feels like forever. I'm so tired, yet sleep evades me. I feel like crying. Crying over my failures- my relationship with Mark, my relationship with Joanne, being pretty, being thin, being loved. Crying, literally, over nothing.

I guess I fall asleep, because I awake to soft knocking on the door. Slightly disoriented, I roll over to see Mark entering the room hesitantly. Right. I'm at the loft. I… live here now?

"Maureen? You awake?"

"You don't have to knock. It's your room." I point out. I stretch, then sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh… right. Well, Roger and Mimi are back. We already ate, but I saved you a plate. I figured you might be hungry. I'll sit with you while you eat."

His voice brooks no argument. He's staring at me with hard eyes, waiting for my response, waiting to see my reaction. It's a challenge, and we both know it. Usually I'm always up for a challenge, it's the best part of the game, but now I feel like I'm floundering. What am I going to do? There's no way I'm eating it, whatever it is. Think, Maureen, think… I can't think. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Where is this coming from, anyway? I thought I had Mark fooled, at least a little. Sure, he films everything, but he's so detached when he's doing it… plus it's been months since we dated, I didn't think he'd notice or remember my disorder. Wait, where the hell did _that _come from? That's not what I meant. I do not have a disorder, I'm merely on a diet. Just a diet until I lose 15 more pounds. I just want to weigh 90. That's perfectly logical, right? So then why can't I tell Mark that? _Because, _the little voice in the back of my mind answers, _you know it's not normal, not logical. He'll think you're crazy. You're __**being**__ crazy. _I shake my head to get rid of the voice. It is NOT crazy to want to be pretty. If I am pretty and thin, maybe people will finally love me. What's wrong with wanting that? Nothing. And furthermore-

"Maureen?" Mark's voice interrupts my quickly derailing train of thought as his hand catches my arm. Without realizing it I had stood up and started pacing in the small space between Mark's bed and the door.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"Are you going to come eat the food I saved you or not?" Those eyes. I have to look away. I shake my head slightly.

"I, um… had a big lunch. I had…" Think, you idiot! What's a big lunch to a normal person? God, this used to come so easy, almost like one of my talents. I used to be able to fabricate whole meals, down to the serving size and number of calories, in seconds. What happened to that? "I had a sandwich, and…" One glance at Mark shows he doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

"I just can't" I choke.

"Of course you can!" He looks angry now, and disappointed. His voice rises. "Stop being ridiculous! You look fine, except for the fact that you're all pale and sickly looking and your bones stick out all over the place! You. Are. Not. Fat!"

The argument is eerily similar to one we had back when we were together, yet I'm shocked and mildly impressed. When we were dating Mark never would have had the balls to say that to me. Still, I feel the tears flooding my eyes. God dammit, I'm not trying to be a drama queen. I blink them back furiously. It does little good.

"I'm sorry." my voice breaks. God fucking dammit. "It's just- I can't! I can't, I can't, I'm sorry, I can't…" I'm babbling now. Breathing quickly, and crying freely. Breathing _too _quickly. Hyperventilating. Now Mark looks concerned and confused. Poor Marky. I try desperately to get a hold of myself, but its damn near impossible.

I can't breathe. I'm not getting any air. I'm gasping, but it's like my lungs have abandoned me, they are refusing to inflate. I waver on my feet. NO! Can't pass out, mustn't pass out… but I can't seem to control my lower half. I sense that my knees are buckling, far beyond my Oxygen-starved brain's control at this point. I'm sobbing relentlessly and DAMMIT why can't I breathe?!? Mark does his best to keep me from hitting anything too hard on my way down, but I barely notice. Everything is so… hazy… must… fight…

"ROGER!" Mark's voice cuts through the fog. "A LITTLE HELP, PLEASE!"

I surrender. Blackout.


End file.
